Balmoral Hall School - Optima Anni Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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19 Decision I was looking for a nice kind of book, So I gave the librarian a nice little look. Then she whispered to me, Would you like to see On the library shelves Some books about elves? Then I slowly did sigh, But again she did try. Would you care for a book, she said, Perhaps a book on horses instead? But I suddenly decided to take the book Of the adventurer Captain Cook . GAIL LONG, Grade VII Something to Live For - It is up to you, Tim. We are doing our best, but you've got to help us. Tim Paisley opened his burning eyes and looked up with difficulty at the serious, calm face. He ached unbearably all over. His lips were dry and cracked and his head seemed to be on fire. He blinked and tried to focus on the man standing beside his small, clean hospital cot. It was the middlefaged Doctor Simmons. He was a minister and medical doctor, and Tim had often watched his kind eyes and steady, sure hand as he went about his work at this mission and medical station. Tim had jungle fever. He was the best pilot of the few who had volunteered to fly medical supplies and provisions between this station in Africa and Canada. There was little pay, and it was an exhausting, thankless job, so that good pilots did not usually offer their services. Tim had, because he had no family or friends for whom he felt any responsibility, and the job promised the excitement he craved. He looked at the window and was vaguely surprised that it was dark. He must have been delirious this afternoon, he decided. He could hear the insects humming, and they seemed to be trying their hardest to get through the holes in the screen. Tim looked back at the doctor. 'Tm not going to fight it, he muttered, barely audibly. I've got nothing to live for. But you have. You must try and . . The words were lost in the roaring in Tim's ears, as he slipped into unconsciousness. He seemed to be half stumbling, half falling, down some steep, charred stairs. Little tongues of flame flickered under his blundering feet. There was a red haze everywhere, and an oppressive, damp heat. He was now in a large cavern at the bottom of the stairs. He limped painfully along, and sudden' ly, he saw a man standing with his back to him. I want to get out. Tim's voice seemed like another s. The person turned slowly and Tim recognized the serious face. Are you quite sure? You have so much to live for, came an expressionless voice. I tell you, I want to get out. I can't stand this torture. How do I get out? The figure pointed straight ahead, and Tim started again. It seemed to be getting cooler, and he hurried on. Then, a low wail greeted his ears. He looked around. There, on the stairs, was a group of natives with their arms outstretched towards him. Their contorted faces and grotesque bodies mirf rored pain and suffering. The wailing became louder. We need you. Don't leave us! they moaned. Tim clapped his hands to his ears and tried to make for the beckoning coolness, but his feet were suddenly leaden. The further you go, the harder it will be to come back, said the figure beside him. Tim stopped. For a moment he seemed to waver, then he found himself struggling back to the stairs. He started to climb. Higher and higher he went, through the swirling steam. He seemed to be walking up the inside of a live volcano. He stumbled and lay gasping, and got up and staggered on. He fell again-surely he could not go on. He looked back. He could see the entrance to the cavern, and remembered the blessed coolness he had so nearly reached. All he had to do was . . . Don't leave us! rang in his ears. He struggled up a few more steps. Only three more. He was crawling on his hands and knees, panting and gasping. Two morefone more. He put both his swollen hands on it, and with one last effort, he heaved himself over it, into fathomless darkness. Now he was falling, falling, falling, and now another bright light. Tim Paisley opened his eyes. Light was streaming through the windows. Perspiration was running down his face in torrents, but he felt cool and refreshed. It's all over, Tim. The haggard face of Dr. Simmons was smiling at him. Tim grinned back weakly. I guess you were right, he said. Louisa MCKBNTY Grade IX

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18 The First Supper As a newfborn baby enters the alien world, so did I enter Balmoral Hall's dining room one fall evening two long years ago. Timidly following the processior., I took my place behind a chair. During grace, my anxious stomach grumbled continuously until I was positive all eyes were focussed on me. As soon as the Amen was said, I pulled back my chair which screeched piercingly over the freshly waxed tiles. As I peered at the conglomeration of pickles, flowers, jugs, and strange faces, I felt a wild desire to take refuge under the table. But, summoning all my courage, I snatched my napkin and unfolded it neatly in my lap. Then it began! Plates this way, no, that way, all as organized as a production line in a factory. When the deliciousflooking food ceased whizzing by, I uttered my first word of the evening, P . . . pa . . . pardon? The tall girl with the horn' rimmed glasses patiently repeated her question, Would you care for a glass of milk? In my confusion, I said I would, when I would really have preferred water. I felt a polite tap on my shoulder and heard a whispered, Please pass the pickles. Everyone began to eat. I glanced at the inviting food placed before me, and as a feeling of homesickness swept over me, I suddenly lost my appetite. Placing my left hand carefully in my lap, I realized with horror that my napkin had dis' appeared! Casually leaning back, I glanced under the table, and there it lay, just a few inches from my feet. I placed the toe of my shoe on its corner and dragged it to the edge of the chair. With great dexterity I manoeuvered it up the chair leg into my hand. Clutching it with firm resolution, I tucked it into the top of my skirt. Once more concentrating on my dinner, I clasped my fork and began eating. The green peas seemed but a menace, as each time I successfully gathered a few on my fork, they fell back again with a noisy plop. Taking my knife, I realized that everyone was skilfully using both knife and fork together. And so, not wishing to be a black sheep, I desperately tried to eat with both tools. Finally, the slim, darkfhaired girl on my left attempted to begin a conversation with the usual, What is your name, and where are you from? Answering in my loudest voice, which at that time resembled my grandmothers voice when stricken with laryngitis, I said, Karen jones, from Cntariof' At this, she laughed gaily and told me that her mother had sent her to a private school for the sake of keeping up with the jonesesf' At that moment, however, I felt that the Joneses were having trouble keeping up with themselves. Unconsciously, I started to relax and even to enjoy myself. When I had finished, I placed my knife and fork together on my plate, and was relieved to notice that everyone else had done likewise. I watched the two girls effortlessly clearing the table and wondered how long it would take me to learn. As the strawberry shortcake was placed before me, my appetite quickly returned, and with great relish, I tasted the rich whipped cream. Soon everyone was talking freely, and we all seemed like old friends. By the time that the concluding grace was said, all tension had dis' appeared and I felt quite at home. KAREN JONES, Grade X The Ballad of Wolseley Street Come listen now, all gather round, Whilst I a story tell About a tree on Wolseley Street The city wish'd to fell. There came five men with axe and saw To smite its noble browg The women of the neighbourhood Began to raise a row. They ranged themselves around the tree That bright and sunny day, They would not let the men approach To take their tree away. ss Now, ladies ye must all be off, A stern policeman said. But the ladies did not moveg eftsoons, The policeman moved instead. The city called upon the Mayor To come and still the crowd. He came'-and drove away the meng The women cheered right loud. sn. Come down now, birdie, from that tree, The women loudly cried. The workman came right swiftly down, Though blushing like a bride. The workmen left, the crowd dispersed, The autumn wind blew chill, And thus today, in majesty, The victor stands there still. SARA ALLAN, Grade X

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20 llllll JUNIURS 'I' . at cf . 5 Aix THE KIN DERGARTEN Night Night is the time when all are asleep, Night is the time when ghosts start to creep, And mothers sing their babies to sleepg Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. KAY WILSON, Grade IV Snow in Spring I looked in the garden, I saw the white snow fallg I looked because it wasn't The time for snow at all. JANE FERGUSON, Grade II Skating I like to skate, But I dOn't like to wait For winter to come When I can skate. DEBORAH Rii.EY, Grade I Bath Time I've washed my face, I've washed my feet and tummy, I've washed my neck and kneesg Gan I get out now, Mummy? SUSAN WESTON, Grade III My Teddy I have a little Teddy, Panda is his name, I go to bed with him each night, He snuggles up to me so tight. jOfANNE WHITMORE, Grade II Our Pet r His eyes are black, beady, and bright, His nose a twitching pinkg He does his housework in the nightg I-Ie loves his food and drink. I-Ie's furry and brown, He's tame as tame, Little Hamster is his name. DEBORAH DIOKSON, Grade II